


Control

by dizzzylu



Series: Mating Games Submissions [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's easy for Stiles to slip into this skin</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> Week six's challenge was to find a specific piece of text media that features strong werewolf/monster/animal themes. We also had to be werewolf related, meaning a werewolf had to be part of the pairing (threesome/moresome), or werewolf-specific kinks had to be included (marking, knotting, A/B/O dynamics, etc). [The quote I picked](http://www.hitrecord.org/records/715144) was from [HitRecord](http://www.hitrecord.org). Specifically:
> 
> A typical Nice Guy, the Huntsman:  
> his aim is to own and defeat me  
> "Wolf," I said, "you want what I want,  
> so get on your knees then, and eat me."

It's easy for Stiles to slip into this skin, once everybody's gone. Filing out the door one by one, checking their phones or making plans, not at all noticing Stiles left behind on the couch, Derek keeping watch from the doorway until he can't hear them anymore.

Stiles shakes himself out, head and shoulders, hands and wrists, thighs spreading wide now that he isn't smushed between Boyd and Isaac. His jeans are tight already, and he adjusts himself, sighing, his hand warm and the pressure reassuring, even though it's only his own palm. 

Derek's return is quiet; he's still all hard lines and stiff upper lip. His tight chest turning his breathing shallow. Stiles watches Derek's nose flare and he tilts his chin up, lips slick and parted. It's all Derek needs to sink into it, knees falling to the couch on either side of Stiles' thighs, hands framing Stiles' face. The touch so light and careful it almost isn't there at all. 

Each kiss works Derek a little loser, softer. A suckle to his lower lip, a nip at the corner. Stiles' tongue soft and quick, darting in and out, chasing the rumbling sounds Derek makes. Stiles strokes his palms up and down Derek's back, slow and firm, working the tension from his spine. On the last upward pass, he tangles his fingers in Derek's hair, pulling in short, sharp tugs until the gel's all worked out and Derek's kisses turn fumbling and eager, messy.

Stiles' hands slide down again, and they don't stop until they find warm, smooth skin. He helps Derek peel off his henley, and then his hand falls to Derek's shoulder and squeezes, once, thumb digging into the hollow of Derek's throat.

Derek's breath catches, his eyes going dark and liquid. He's hard in his jeans, but he's got a bit of a wait yet. It's Stiles' who gets off first, asserting his dominance over Derek to give him an out, a way to shed the burden he was never meant to bear.

He takes his time, here, opening Stiles' jeans slow, nudging them and Stiles' boxers down little by little, until Stiles' shoes come off, followed by his jeans and underwear. Stiles takes his own shirt off, shuddering once in the cool air. Derek's mouth at Stiles' groin is a nice contrast; hot and wet, his inhales long and deep, exhales gusting cool over the sticky tip of Stiles' cock.

Stiles' hands fall to Derek's hair, combing it into soft tufts (only Stiles gets to know this, how soft Derek is; his hair and skin and eyes, his voice, the sounds he makes sucking Stiles down, down.), scraping his nails over Derek's scalp until Derek shivers and gasps, mouth hovering open over Stiles' dick. Derek would wait forever if Stiles made him, but Stiles doesn't, sinking into the slick wet heat of Derek's mouth as he carefully pulls Derek's head closer.

Derek groans at first, tongue sliding down the entire length of Stiles, tracing the veins on the way back up, then the frenulum. He uses a hit of teeth at the crown, dragging them over Stiles' slit, and Stiles gasps, hands tightening in Derek's hair to thrust in hard, once. The surprise of it has Derek's eyes tearing up, but his hands squeeze Stiles' calves and he grunts, clear signs he's ready for whatever Stiles wants to give him.

Tonight Stiles wants it hard and fast; there's been a buzz under his skin all day, anticipation of the pack meeting sparking hot in his blood, and he wants to get his first orgasm out of the way, _then_ take his time. So, he gets a good grip on Derek's hair and sets up a rhythm.

It's fast and messy and there are times when Stiles hits the back of Derek's throat, choking him a little, but Derek can handle it. Needs the control taken from him for a little while, enough for his shoulders to sag and his back to bow. For him to take a breath and be. And if that means Stiles gets orgasms out of the deal, then he's willing to make that sacrifice.

It comes quick, just like Stiles wanted, his orgasm curling low in his gut, getting pulled out of him with every wet snuffle from Derek, every squeeze of fingers around Stiles' leg. He doesn't bother to warn Derek before it happens; just holds Derek down with a firm hand on the back of Derek's neck, hips hitching into Derek's wet mouth, and comes with a long, low, "fuck," twitching once when Derek gives a hint of teeth on an upstroke.

Stiles has to take a minute to catch his breath, but he keeps Derek pinned to his groin, his stubble sharp against Stiles' thighs. Derek uses the time to mouth at any skin he can get to; Stiles' balls, the base of his dick. He's breathing heavy, too, and is undoubtedly hard in his jeans, but he's got a few hours yet before that gets taken care of, and Stiles has plenty of ideas to keep them busy until then.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [dizzzylu](http://dizzzylu.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
